


Murtagh on the Ridge AU

by Lenny9987



Series: Lenny's Imagine Claire and Jamie Prompts [17]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Drums of Autumn, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Murtagh survived Culloden and wound up on the Ridge with Jamie and Claire and company. </p><p>*This AU is not written/presented in chronological order*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Do one of Murtagh being alive and present in Jemny's birth.

Murtagh didn’t feel like he belonged in the room with Jamie, Claire, and Brianna but he couldn’t handle waiting around when he might be useful either. So he paced the hallway and jumped to attention anytime the door opened, immediately ready to fetch whatever Claire needed or take a few minutes to help calm Jamie’s taut nerves.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Brianna—had been struggling since Jamie had first brought her home to the Ridge. She looked a deal like Ellen and it made him a bit tongue-tied whenever he was around her. She was shy of him, too, though he could hardly blame the lass; whatever Claire might have told her of himself and Jamie and life in their time, it would still be overwhelming to her.

So Murtagh had done what he’d always done—he’d focused on Jamie and being there for the lad as he fumbled his way through getting to know his daughter.

Jamie appeared at the door and Murtagh stood up straighter, waiting for Jamie to close the door behind him and let out the breath that was caught in his lungs. He crossed to where Murtagh stood and slumped against the wall beside him.

“How’s she doing?” Murtagh asked—there was no telling from the haggard look Jamie wore. He wasn’t as ruddy as usual but didn’t look dangerously pale and the fact Murtagh could hear the lass screaming and yelling regular, as well as Claire’s soothing instructions, seemed a good sign.

“Claire says she’s doing fine and I dinna think she’s sayin’ it just to keep Brianna calm,” Jamie admitted, clearly determined to believe it himself.

“She still wants ye in there?” Murtagh was skeptical about it himself but Claire would need help and he didn’t blame her for trusting Jamie more than Jocasta’s house slaves, especially where Brianna was less guarded about her modern-ness, as he’d come to think of it.

“Aye. She has me telling her fairy stories and talking to her in the Gáidhlig.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I canna tell if it’s helping her or no but I’m no about to stop. Do ye have any tales as come to mind? I fear I’ll run out.”

“Did ye tell her about yer mam and da and the Gathering?” Murtagh asked. “Dinna give her fairy stories; tell her more of where she comes from, where her bairn comes from. She has them watching over her and lendin’ her their strength—be sure she kens that.”

Jamie nodded and looked a little less tense so Murtagh gave him a brief clap on the back and nudged him back towards the door.

“Thank ye,” Jamie said quietly. “And… ye ought to go get yerself some rest if ye can. Ye’re none so young to be pacing about like this.”

Murtagh humphed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I look a might better’n you do at the moment, I’d reckon. And ye’re about to be a grandfather—dinna be calling _me_ auld.”

Jamie rolled his eyes before going back into the room.

Murtagh realized he _did_ feel old... and guilty though he knew that last wasn’t something he should be feeling. But seeing Jamie with Claire and their lass… It was Ellen—and Brian—who should rightly be standing in his place, watching their lad with his family. Not that Murtagh didn’t feel a bit of hard-earned pride for helping Jamie become the man he was; he liked to think Ellen would be pleased with the job he’d done, all things considered.

But that just led him right back to feeling _old_. Beyond being grateful for Brianna’s arrival for the obvious reasons, Murtagh was relieved that Jamie had more than just Claire and his sense of duty to keep him standing and focused now; that he could once more look to the future and smile—it had been far too long. There would be more difficulties ahead but with them in his life, Murtagh was starting to feel that letting go wouldn’t be so hard when his time came—not that he meant it to come soon, by any means.

There was a prolonged cry from Brianna on the other side of the door—louder and sustained in a way that none of the others had been—and then he heard the piercing wail of the bairn and stopped his pacing, his heart racing as he waited to be sure that nothing had gone wrong in those final minutes.

But then Claire appeared at the door with an armful of soiled linens and tools. When her gaze met Murtagh’s her face relaxed, relief written in her eyes and smile. She stepped into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind her.

“It’s all right then?” he inquired. “It’s done?”

“A boy,” Claire beamed. “Healthy and whole and Bree’s all right too. Born hungry and already nursing. Shouldn’t be long before they’re both resting peaceably.”

Murtagh nodded as Claire moved on down the hallway to dispose of the laundry and clean herself up before returning. He caught a whiff of the sweat and blood that overwhelmed the lye and starch that signaled the linens’ earlier cleanliness but then it was gone, carried away in the breeze of Claire’s wake.

He stood before the closed door and said a prayer of thanksgiving that the lass and her bairn had made it through safe, that tragedy had passed them by on this occasion. Should he head off to his own rooms now? He wasn’t needed any longer but was reluctant to abandon his post.

A moment later Jamie saved him from the decision by opening the door and stepping into the hallway again, his face barely able to contain his grin.

“I have a grandson,” he told Murtagh quietly.

“Aye. Claire said. He’ll be a braw lad from what I heard o’ his lungs and Claire said he was already lookin’ to fill his belly.”

Jamie nodded and blinked then stepped forward to embrace his godfather. It startled Murtagh at first but then he heard the gasping inhalation and closed his arms around his godson, patting him reassuringly.

“They’re all right,” Jamie whispered with desperate relief. “She’s all right and the bairn…”

“Aye,” Murtagh said quietly. “They’ve come through, right enough.”

Jamie straightened when he heard Claire’s footsteps, releasing Murtagh and brushing his eyes with the backs of his hands. His prideful smile returned before he wrapped Claire in his arms, lifting her off her feet in his enthusiasm.

“He’ll be callin’ ye Grannie ‘fore too long,” Jamie remarked, eliciting a minor huff from Claire as he set her down again.

“I suppose Gran is better than Nana. I’ll see how Bree’s feeling and if she’s up for a visitor,” Claire said with a smile for Murtagh before heading inside once more.

He was already shaking his head reluctantly. “Tha’s…” he began objecting to Jamie. “It isna ne—the lass ought te rest and have time to herself.”

But Jamie’s arm across his shoulders was solid and insistent as it ushered him through the doorway and into the room where Claire was arranging pillows to help Brianna sit up in bed.

The flush of exertion was fading from her cheeks and the sweat had been wiped from her brow, though her hair was still damp and loose about her shoulders. The bairn had finished his first meal and had quickly decided to follow it up with his first nap, nestled in his mother’s arms with a pillow for extra support.

He was struck again by how much she looked like Ellen though he hadn’t been to see Ellen in the same informal state; he had seen her the day after Jamie had been born and though she’d been resting in bed, it wasn’t so… _intimate._ What was he to the lass? Godfather to the man she was still learning to call father? Might as well be a stranger to her for all the time they’d spent together since she’d arrived.

She smiled at him politely but appeared to be at as much of a loss as he was. Jamie, however, seemed to have his own ideas for Murtagh’s role. Brianna yielded the newborn to him with no objection, relaxing back into the pillows and tracking her father and son with her eyes. Jamie rocked a bit as he walked over to Murtagh.

“Would ye care to hold him?” He didn’t wait for a response before placing the infant in Murtagh’s arms.

There was a small squeak from the carefully swaddled bundle as he was transferred from one set of arms to the other but he made no more notable objections, though the still-squished nature of his features gave him the appearance of concentrating intently on his slumber.

“Ah, ye’re a strapping lad for all ye seem a wee thing now,” Murtagh commented as Jamie guided him closer to Brianna’s bed where a chair was empty and waiting. “But I remember when yer grandda was just this size and look at him now. And his mam was just as bonnie as yourn, I promise ye that.” Murtagh glanced up briefly at Brianna, feeling her gaze on him. He noticed her quiet smile and felt the reflexive heat crawling up his neck, so he looked down at the bairn again. “Aye, ye’re a lucky lad and no mistake—a verra lucky lad.”


	2. Ellen's Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine Murtagh meeting Brianna for the first time and being amazed on how much she looks like Ellen and what he would think.

"Where's yer uncle?" Murtagh asked Ian who was effectively standing guard over Marsali and Germain.

"He went to take a piss," Ian informed him, ignorant of Marsali's eye roll as she readjusted Germain in her arms. The lad––nearly a toddler––had been worn out by all the people and things there were to see and had finally passed out in his mother's arms. 

"He's been gone a while if that's all he was about," Marsali observed. "We ken they were hoping he wouldna have time to prepare for Fergus' defense."

Ian worried aloud, "Ye dinna think they meant to take extra measures to be sure he couldna help Fergus, do ye?"

Murtagh frowned at Ian as Marsali continued to pale and fidget beside them, nervously bouncing Germain.

" _You_ stay here," he instructed Ian. "I'll see what's holding him up."

He muttered under his breath as he walked away. In many ways Jenny's youngest lad reminded Murtagh of his godson but he lacked Jamie's tact and awareness... though Jamie hadn't  _always_ had possession of those himself. 

It was interesting to see the effect living with Jamie and Claire had on Ian––and he on them. Murtagh felt the familiar stab of disappointment that he'd never gotten to see Jamie with his own child. Those days in Paris––as painful as they could be with all their dull and stuffy trips into 'society' and the watching over your shoulder everywhere you went––they had at least been spent in pursuit of a better future, building something for that bairn Claire had carried in her belly. Losing the wee lass at the same time their plotting in Paris and hopes of having any lasting impact fell to pieces had left them all adrift when they'd returned to Lallybroch. They hadn't truly regained a sense of direction until they were forcibly dragged into the fighting itself by that 'bonnie,' naive prince. And then the news of the second bairn––another lass, Claire told them––come too late and raised in a time and place entirely foreign to them. 

Murtagh's reverie was interrupted as he spotted Jamie around the back of the building. There was someone with him, which immediately put Murtagh on edge. His hand rested on the handle of his knife where it was tucked safely into his belt. But Jamie's posture was awkward and uncomfortable, not fearful or aggressive. Murtagh wasn't sure what to make of the lad whose back was to him. Tall and braw but there was something...  _off_ about him. 

Jamie caught sight of Murtagh and as his attention focused on his godfather, the lad he was addressing turned to look as well.

Murtagh thought his heart might fail him.

Ellen. 

His hand dropped away from his knife and his knees began to buckle. He reached out for something to lean on but there was nothing at hand. Jamie rushed forward and caught him. 

"Murtagh," he murmured as he led the older man toward a nearby tree. "Are ye unwell?"

"Ellen," he whispered in response. "The lass looks like Ellen."

Jamie smiled with pride. "Aye, and wi' good reason."

"Is he okay?" the lass herself asked in an unusual accent. She stood back, her arms crossed over her chest. 

It was nothing like Ellen's voice. Somehow, that helped Murtagh to regain control of himself.

"No need to ask ye who ye are," Murtagh said gruffly, straightening and clearing his throat. "Claire said ye favored yer father. She couldna have kent just how much ye were like yer grandmother, though."

She was younger than Ellen had been when she'd run off from the Gathering with Brian Fraser; she was closer to the age Ellen had been when  _he_ had first met her.

"Mama said I looked like the portrait of her," Brianna recounted, her gaze drifting between Jamie and Murtagh. "It's hanging in the National Portrait Galler. After Mama...  _left_ , I went to see it myself. They don't have her name but I could see what Mama meant."

Murtagh felt a lump form in his throat and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't quite swallow it down. It pained him that Ellen's name had been lost, but that her portrait still hung in a museum two hundred years from now... That she would endure like that was fitting... and that she had endured in the form of this lass–– _her granddaughter_. 

"What did ye need me for?" Jamie finally thought to ask.

Murtagh snapped back to the present and recalled poor Marsali worried about Fergus with naught but Ian and wee Germain for comfort.

"Came to fetch ye. Fergus' case will be called soon," he explained.

Jamie jumped. "Christ! Marsali must be––come," he motioned to Brianna. "This willna take long." And with that Jamie began striding purposefully forward leaving Murtagh and Brianna to fall awkwardly into step together in his wake.

"You're Murtagh, aren't you?" Brianna ventured, breaking the silence. 

He responded with a gruff and wary, "Aye."

"Mama thought you must have died at Culloden too. Ad we didn't find word of you while we were looking for Ja––for Da," she explained, flushing in a pretty way that deepened her resemblance to Ellen MacKenzie Fraser and caused Murtagh to flush as well.

"Aye, well, it was a near thing a few times but I wasna so important as yer father. I wouldna expect history to recall me as it would him."

As they came around the corner of the building to find Jamie with Marsali and Ian, Brianna's mouth shut, her lips pressing together self-consciously.

It occurred to Murtagh that there was a lot to the story of the last twenty-some-odd years that Brianna––like Claire before her––was missing. Murtagh decided to have a few words with Jamie this time around rather than interfering personally. 


	3. A Christmas Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wee Christmas ficlet for Imagine

"Christ," Murtagh muttered under his breath as their carriage pulled into the courtyard at Jared's. It was eerie to see how little had changed in the city in twenty years.

"Aye," Jamie agreed then grinned as Jared came out to meet them. "I'm afraid we'll no be staying more than a week or two," he told his cousin after sharing a brief embrace. "It's a time sensitive matter we're about ye ken."

"Of course," Jared said with a nod. "Ye have the full disposal of whatever resources I possess. I only ask ye agree to share yer Christmas feast wi' me. I dinna usually have family near at this time of year and as ye'll be gone 'fore Hogmanay..."

"I think we can manage that," Claire said, stepping forward to greet Jared. 

"You, cousin, are in trouble for no coming to see me in the whole time ye lived in France since me in the whole time ye lived in France since last we met," Jared scolded good-naturedly. "Might ha' been able to clear this misunderstanding about yer husband up sooner."

"I didn't want to risk your safety," she said quickly by way of excuse. But Jared had already moved on to instructing the servants in moving their trunks into the house.

Claire spotted Murtagh gazing around the courtyard as though searching for something... or someone. She followed Jamie and Jared into the house but an idea had taken root.

* * *

"Murtagh," Claire pulled him aside after dinner several days later.

"Have ye the list of necessaries for me to fetch ye? Jamie seemed to think ye'd want to get them yerself," he said in reference to the folded paper in her hands.

"Oh... I've already got most of what I need. This is actually a little Christmas present for you, Mr. Scrooge," she said with a smile. 

"Mr. who?" he asked warily.

"Nevermind. I wanted to thank you––" he frowned at her as she held the paper out for him to take. "I do," she insisted. "I want to thank you for watching over Jamie. I don't want to think about what might have happened to him if he hadn't had you with him."

Reluctantly, Murtagh took the paper and unfolded it. His eyebrows shot to his graying hairline and he tried to give the paper back to Claire. 

"No," she insisted. "It's yours. You can use it or not but I thought you should at least know."

With a smile, she walked away leaving Murtagh looking baffled and uncertain.

* * *

Murtagh stood at the corner watching people going in and out of the inn. Raucous laughter reached him periodically and brought him a few steps closer to the door but he would inevitably slip back into the shadows. As night fell, he couldn't deny the need to go in from the cold and get something warm in his stomach. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, he tacked himself onto a large group entering the inn and slipped through the door. There was an empty table in the corner--probably because of how far it was from both the fire and the counter--but it suited his purposes well.

A young woman came to tend him bringing ale and a bowl of stew. He settled in to keep watching while he ate. 

He heard her before he saw her--her laugh hadn't changed in twenty years. Setting his spoon aside, he hastily patted at his hair and wiped any stray bits of food from his mustache and beard.

She was rounder and her hair had gone quite gray but she had the same jolly dimples and rosy cheeks, the same laughter and mischief in her eyes.

She smiled when she saw him watching her. He flushed and looked down at his half-finished stew.

" _Bonjour monsieur_ ," her bubbly voice chirped from beside him a moment later. "Is everything to your liking?" she inquired in French. 

She didn't recognize him. And why should she? It had been twenty years and for a man of his age they had been particularly rough years. 

" _Oui, madame_ ," he responded gruffly and dared look up to meet her eye.

Her hand shot out to touch his arm.

He peered up at her again hesitantly.

" _Monsieur Murtagh_?" There were tears shining in her eyes and a broad smile on her reddening face.

"Ye remember me then," Murtagh observed, switching inadvertently back to English.

She sat down opposite him, her hands coming up to cover her face momentarily before she giggled helplessly. "Of course I remember you,  _mon soldat._ I thought you had been killed! Monsieur Jared did not hear of you again and what he heard of Milord Broch Tuarach..." Her smile faded. "He was put to prison some years ago–"

"He's out now," Murtagh interrupted Suzette. "I'm here wi' him and Claire. It was Claire who found ye and suggested I come. I hope ye dinna mind the visit."

" _Non_! Of course not. You must thank Milady Claire for me. I understand correct that you will not be long in Paris?"

"A little over a week more," he informed her. "But Claire will want to see ye 'fore we leave. Ye'll be busy wi' yer family and patrons here on Christmas I expect, but perhaps the day after?"

" _Oui_ ," Suzette agreed quickly. "For such an old friend, I can get away. I 'ave not been to see Monsieur Fraser since I married."

"Yer husband will no mind–" Murtagh sputtered. Of course she had married after he'd left; she hadn't wanted to be a lady's maid forever. 

"I am widowed now," she told him somberly. "But I have  _mon fils_ to help me with the inn."

"I want ye to know... I never meant to leave so..."

" _Je connais,_ " she told him. "I tried to stop Milady... I have never found another lady to serve like Milady Claire. It was difficult to see her and Milord go. When Pierre asked me to come with him to run the inn..."

"So ye're truly no sorry I came to see ye?"

"Truly," she assured him with a smile. "It is a lovely surprise in time for Christmas."


	4. The Whore at the Printshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: i love this new murtagh au, so about one of him seeing Claire after she comes back

Murtagh sat at the table watching the door, waiting for Jamie. The lad was overdue by near an hour. There were details they needed to get straight so he could bring them to Fergus before the next shipment arrived. It was possible that Jamie had been held up by a demanding customer––it had happened before with last minute orders for broadsides coming in and irresistible sums of _legal_ compensation in play; Jamie couldn’t refuse when the print shop was so necessary to keeping up appearances.

A familiar voice caught Murtagh’s attention. He looked up to find Jamie’s assistant Geordie blathering to anyone who would listen about stinking Papists and how he’d never work for one again.

Murtagh stood so fast his legs bumped the table and moved it several inches across the floor, upsetting patrons on either side of him.

If Geordie was at the tavern then it wasn’t likely Jamie was printing up broadsides for an order.

Geordie didn’t see Murtagh as he approached and so continued to whine until Murtagh’s shadow fell over him. His complaints cut off immediately at the scowl Murtagh gave him.

“What’re _you_ doin’ _here_ at this hour? Are ye no supposed to be workin’?” Murtagh asked pointedly.

Geordie seemed inclined to cower but made the effort of keeping his head raised and steady as he addressed Murtagh’s general direction rather than look him in the eye. “I quit,” Geordie informed him. “He was at it wi’ some whore when I got back runnin’ an errand and I refuse to be subjected to such inappropriate displays.”

Murtagh frowned at Geordie––who finally began to tremble––but then brushed past the useless man to exit the tavern.

If Madame Jeanne was showing up at the print shop it could only be bad news. Could something have happened to Fergus? It was possible the lad had been arrested. Or something might have happened to the shipment.

Murtagh hurried along the Edinburgh streets until he came to the print shop. The door was locked but a light still emanated from somewhere inside. Murtagh pulled out the extra key Jamie had insisted he take for emergencies and let himself into the shop. There was a small mess near the press in the back––something had spilled on the floor and tools for fixing the press remained out, the task unfinished… but there didn’t appear to have been a struggle… and the door had been locked…

“Mr. Malcolm!” Murtagh called loudly, his ears straining to catch a response.

There was a creaking of boards above his head and Murtagh moved to the stairs calling in a loud whisper, “Jamie! Jamie, lad!” before raising his voice to a more normal volume as he approached the door to the room where Jamie occasionally slept. “What in blazes is goin’ on wi’ ye? I came across that blowhard Geordie while I was waitin’ on ye. He said ye were––”

Bursting into the room, Murtagh found Jamie seated on the edge of his bed, a woman practically in his lap and his arms wrapped around her tightly. Her face was hidden from Murtagh’s view but he felt the heat rush to his face and looked away, unwilling to look too closely at whatever it was he’d interrupted.

“Apologies, ma’am,” Murtagh sputtered, turning hastily to leave them in privacy. “Jam––Mr. Malcolm,” he corrected. “If ye could meet me down in yer shop when ye have a moment.”

The strain of embarrassment and disgust in his voice was impossible to conceal and Murtagh was only half surprised when he heard laughter from the pair on the bed––or were they sobbing? The question was enough to turn Murtagh around again.

Jamie was rising from the bed but his hands found those of the woman sitting beside him, pulling her to her feet as well, unwilling or unable to let her go.

Murtagh squinted as the woman freed one of her hands to wipe at her face, Jamie following suit. There was something familiar…

“Claire?” Murtagh’s question was quiet with awe and disbelief. Jamie had mentioned having visions and dreams of Claire on any number of occasions. Murtagh understood the power of yearning and mourning, himself. But with Claire being whatever it was she was, could the lad have… summoned her, somehow?

Claire had stepped forward to embrace the startled Murtagh. “You’re looking well. I was afraid… when I finally went looking for Jamie… I hadn’t thought… but of course, how else would he have lasted this long without you watching out for him,” she rambled.

“Careful Claire,” Jamie cautioned stepping forward to take her hand again when she released Murtagh. He pulled her to his side again, keeping her close. “Ye’re like to knock him over, ye’ve given him such a fright.”

“If he falls, you’re picking him up,” she told Jamie as Murtagh’s speechless face glanced back and forth between them. “I’ve had my fill of fainting highlanders today. I thought you were supposed to be a heartier bunch?”

“What’s a man supposed to do when a ghost walks into his shop?”

The playfulness drained from both their faces and was replaced by an all too familiar pain.

“I’m sorry. I… I know that I’ve interrupted… well, I’ve interrupted whatever it is your lives have become,” Claire apologized.

“Sassenach,” Jamie murmured, turning her so that she faced him and then lifting her chin so that she looked at him properly. “Ye were and always will be the most welcome interruption in my life.”

Jamie’s thumb rubbed lightly along Claire’s jaw and Murtagh began to feel that they’d forgotten him so he cleared his throat loudly.

“I uh… I did come here for a reason,” he reminded the couple. “Jamie, lad, ye were supposed to meet me for supper and to discuss…” He trailed off, looking at Claire, uncertain what––if anything––Jamie had told her.

“Discuss what?” she asked, looking warily to Jamie.

“Murtagh’s right. There’s much to discuss, but it’s best handled over food. Ye must be hungry, Sassenach,” Jamie said, offering her his arm.

She took it and leaned briefly against his arm, then let him lead her past Murtagh and down the stairs.

Murtagh watched them move past him and noted how different Jamie already was; the way he moved seemed less encumbered; there was more life in his eyes; something passive and accepting in him had been brushed aside by aroused action and purpose.

It had been a long time since he’d seen Jamie look and act so young as he was now. Feeling a bit younger himself, Murtagh smiled.


	5. Does a Skunk Spray in the Woods?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'm in desperate need of fluff and things outside this ridiculous shit going on in the world! Would one of or all of you amazing writers PLEASE write a fluff piece? Baby Fraser's? Baby MacKenzie's? Just something happy and not in the least bit tainted with the destruction of our actual reality. Thanks!

“Sorry,” Roger apologized as he shifted Jem down from his arms and hiked the empty game sack higher over his shoulder. He touched the knife at his belt and the bag with their midday meal slung over his other shoulder before nodding to himself, his mental checklist complete. “Bree just wanted to––”

“Aye,” Jamie interrupted with a raised hand. “It’s the lad’s first time on the hunt––”

Murtagh scoffed but Jamie ignored him.

“––I ken why ye’re late. Let’s no waste any more time or we’ll no be reaching home again till dark.”

“If we were goin’ a proper hunt it wouldna be an issue,” Murtagh muttered. He adored Jem in small doses but spending an entire day with the three-year-old without his mother to pass him off to when he got fussy wasn’t Murtagh’s idea of a productive way to spend the day.

“It’s how you and Da started me and Willie,” Jamie reminded Murtagh. “Or do ye no stand by yer own methods?”

“I wasna so old then as I am now. I had all the time in the world to waste on yer blatherin’ about the woods and scarin’ off the worthwhile game. Now…” he sighed as the ground began to tilt beneath their feet, the incline getting sharper and his breath coming dearer. “Now I should prefer an easier hunt––home in time for luncheon and an easy afternoon cleaning and butchering followed by a nice bit of fresh roasted meat for supper.” He practically smacked his lips at the thought.

“That being so, checking the snare line isna exactly a difficult task though it can be as tedious as waiting for a decent size stag to come along. Can yield more meat than a poor day’s hunting too, and ye ken that well,” Jamie teased.

“I wan Grandda carry me,” Jem complained already bored with walking.

“Now Jemmy,” Roger began to lecture but Murtagh interrupted.

“Jamie, carry the wee lad or we’ll ne’er catch nothing.”

Jamie beckoned for Jem to toddle over then got down on his knees and lowered his voice. “Tell me what ye see wee man.” He swept his hand and his eyes around the undergrowth. Jem’s eyes watched his grandfather intently then he got down to his knees and mimicked the movements at a much faster rate.

“Do ye see where our path lies?”

Jem screwed up his mouth and narrowed his eyes before pointing in a random direction. “Tha way.”

Jamie took the little hand and drew it a few inches to the left. “Do ye see the way through the trees there?” he asked. “Tha’s the way our line of snares is set.” Rising to his feet once more, Jamie surprised Jem by taking hold of him under the arms, swinging him up over his head, and finally settling the lad on his shoulders. Jem laughed loudly while Murtagh rolled his eyes and continued along their route, muttering under his breath. “Might be easier for ye to see it from up there,” Jamie said with a firm hold on Jem’s feet, keeping him safely in place.

Jem’s fingers wormed their way through Jamie’s hair clutching large clumps and treating them like reins. “Go, Grandda,” he instructed, pulling hard and making Jamie cry out. Murtagh laughed and Roger scolded.

“Go easy on him, Jemmy. Grandda’ll no let ye ride there again if ye pull his hair out at the roots.”

“What sorts of game to ye think we’ll find in our snares?” Jamie asked. They were making better time to the first trap and despite his head start, Jamie and Jem soon passed Murtagh on their way.

“A stag!” Jem exclaimed. “Like a one ye caught when it was before it rained that time.”

“Well, I caught that one wi’ a bullet from my gun, no a snare,” Jamie explained. “A stag would have little trouble getting free of a wee snare bein’ so big. What sorts of stews and pies do yer mam and gran usually make when I’ve come back from the snare run?”

Jem draped himself over Jamie’s head trying to peer down into his grandfather’s face. Jamie had to stop walking to look up at him, laughing. “Rabbit an’ squirrel an’ peasant an’––”

“Aye,” Roger cut him off, chuckling. “And those are the sorts of animals we’re like to catch today.”

“If we’re lucky,” Murtagh muttered. “Now hush. We’re comin’ up on the first trap and ye dinna want to make matters worse if ye’ve got a scared or injured animal tha’s got nothin’ to lose.”

“Why?” Jem whispered loudly in Jamie’s ear.

“Just because a creature’s caught, doesna mean he’ll no fight ye,” Jamie whispered back. “When ye play wi’ Germain and the lasses and one of ‘em catches ye, do ye no try to get away again and keep playing?”

“Isa animal gonna bite ye like Joanie bit Germain when he pulled her hair?”

“It’ll probably try,” Roger informed Jem.

Murtagh was inching closer to where the snare had been set, a stick in his hand pushing back some of the surrounding brush to see if he could find it. He finally looked up shaking his head.

“Tripped it but didna catch the wee fiend,” he told them as Jamie set Jem down and they got closer.

“Do ye ken what we do now?” Jamie asked Jem.

“Go the next one?”

“First, we need to set this one again. Now, I’m going to take it slow so ye can watch but ye’re no to touch. When we get back to the house we’ll see if yer grannie can spare some of her string for ye to practice yer knots with so next time ye can help set one yerself.” Jamie’s hands moved with practiced ease even as he tried to go slow.

Roger clapped Jamie on the shoulder before joining Murtagh and offering him a bit of cheese from the pack he carried. When the snare was just about finished, Murtagh and Roger started off ahead of Jamie and Jem.

“Jemmy, what say we see if we can track the way they go?” Jamie suggested.

“But they goin’ tha way,” he pointed.

“Aye, but we’re no goin’ to look at _them_ ,” he remarked taking his hand and using it to direct the lad’s head to the ground. “Look there––do ye see that? See the shape there? Who do ye think left that?”

“Da! There’s nother one,” he exclaimed following the footprints Roger had left in the soft loamy forest floor.

“And here––see how this is broken here? Tha’s Murtagh’s doing. He’s doin’ it to mark the way we come through so we can find our way back easily if somethin’ happens.”

Roger and Murtagh had stopped up ahead suggesting that this second snare had succeeded in catching something.

Jamie held a finger to his lips and Jem covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. They crept up on Murtagh and Roger but Jem’s giggling gave them away. Roger pretended to be surprised but Murtagh just frowned at Jamie then went back to staring at the creature rustling behind a huckleberry bush. It hadn’t given up trying to free itself so it had probably be caught recently. They saw flashes of black fur but couldn’t make out what it was.

“Seems bigger’n a hare,” Murtagh commented, his arms crossed over his chest. “Bit of fight in it too.”

“He’s stuck,” Jem observed sadly.

Jamie took up a long stick to try and poke at the huckleberry bush and get a better look at the creature they’d caught. “We need to take care. What’s the one Claire said ye should be wary of when it’s out in the day?”

“The one wears a mask,” Murtagh nodded.

“Raccoon,” Roger confirmed. “Could be one of them.”

“I’ma let him go,” Jem declared rushing towards the bush.

“No!” the three adults hollered as Jem struggled to push the branches of the bush out of his way and they got a better view of the squat black and white body of the creature who suddenly felt threatened. 

* * *

“You guys are back earlier than––Mother of God, what’s that smell?” Brianna called as she pulled her arm from the laundry tub and buried her nose in the crook of her wet elbow.

“I don’t think we need to ask you what you caught,” Claire remarked, blinking away tears as the smell made her eyes water. “The real question is how many of you did it get?”

“Jem bore the brunt of it, I’m afraid,” Roger said apologetically. Jem was curled up against his chest, his clothes and hair still wet from an attempt to wash the smell away in the river. “We all tried a wash but I dinna think it’s done any good.”

“There’s not much that does help, I’m afraid.” Claire approached Jamie warily, her nose wrinkling as she got closer. “You’re sure Jem got the worst of it?”

“I was closest to him and tried to get him away,” Jamie explained.

Claire moved on to Murtagh. “You’re not too bad.”

“Jamie makes a fine barricade to hide behind,” he responded in much better spirits than the others now that they were finally home. “Is there naught ye can do for the stink on the wee lad?”

Jem had clearly cried enough to thoroughly exhaust himself yet still looked close to tears. Brianna inched closer and Jem opened his arms, eager to be taken and comforted by his mother.

"Bonjour Monsieur Le Pew," Brianna greeted him as she took him from Roger and cradled him against her chest. With Jem's face safely nuzzled against her neck, she started making faces at Roger, wrinkling her nose and trying to breathe through her mouth before mouthing to her mother,  _I can_ taste _it, ugh_. 

"Monsieur Le Pew?" Jamie asked Claire quietly.

"I'll explain later," she whispered back.

“Didn’t they say that when a dog gets sprayed by a skunk you’re supposed to bathe them in tomato juice?” There was a hopeful note in her voice as her eyes slid from Claire to her vegetable garden by the side of the house.

“It’s an old wives tale that we’re not going to bother with,” Claire put her foot down. “We’re not wasting the tomatoes. All it does is mask the odor for a while but there’s no getting rid of it I’m afraid. Only time will help with that.”

“Time and a good airing out,” Jamie amended reaching over to take Jem from his mother's arms. “Well, Jemmy, I think we’re goin’ to be sleeping outside tonight. Dinna want to be bringing the skunk smell indoors do we.”

“But whatta ‘bout the animals?” he asked warily.

“They’ll no want to get too close wi’ us smellin’ like we do. Yer da and I’ll show ye how to make a proper camp and sleep under yer plaid and the stars.”

“And if it’s all right wi’ you, Claire, _I’ll_ sleep in my proper bed tonight,” Murtagh made his appeal.

Claire sniffed at him again and frowned. “You’ll have to stay in your room and keep the window open.”


End file.
